Odds and Sacrifice
by tenten93
Summary: In The Quarter Quell, the conditions for the Games are changed. This year, the adults who had previously escaped the games are thrown back in. Carol is chosen as a tribute from her District and needs to survive for her daughter and for her unborn child. But will she find an unlikely ally in District 7's Daryl Dixon? And why is he helping her?
1. The Quarter Quell Begins

Chapter 1: The Quarter Quell Begins

* * *

The whistle rang throughout District 8 and Carol squeezed her daughter's hand. Her body is trembling with fear and completely gives her away, despite the calmness and strength she tries to portray. She doesn't want to show Sophia that. Her daughter doesn't need to know.

Sophia is looking up at her curiously, almost as if she can tell, but doesn't comment. Instead, she allows her mom to lead her towards the district square, where familiar and unfamiliar faces are waiting, staring curiously at the large screen and multiple peacekeepers that awaited them.

There's so much tension in the air, every man and woman is terrified that they will be picked. That it is their name that will be drawn from the bowl.

Carol's name has been thrown into the drawing at least 100 times so she knows the odds are not in her favor, but she knows that there are others who's odds are far worse than hers so she can only hold out hope that she will not be picked. For her daughter's sake.

She leaves Sophia to wait with the other children who are all staring fearfully up at the adults, tears are in their eyes, almost as if they know that they could be losing their parent today.

A tap on the microphone in the center of the stage grabs Carol's attention and she stares up at the man standing at the center. He's a handsome man with just a twinkle of insanity etched into his eyes. He's dressed well for the occasion, staring happily down at everyone in District 8. It's time.

"Welcome to the 50th Annual Hunger Games. Now, as you all know, The Quarter Quell has different rules from our previous games, and for today, it has been decided that all adults will be tried," he informs and no one utters a word. They have all been informed of this, the only reason they are being told again is because it is their policy.

"Good. Now then, let's begin. We'll start with the women," The representative speaks and turns to move towards the bowl on the right, several slips of paper rest inside, each carrying one name.

Time seems to slow as his immaculately clean fingers dip into the bowl, his hand diving inside amongst the pieces of parchment until he pulls out one slip.

He moves towards the microphone with a large grin on his lips and removes the tape that kept it together. He unfurls it and everyone is silent and tense as they wait.

"And the female tribute for the 2nd Quarter Quell is... Carol Peletier!" The informant beams and Carol's heart stops. There is scattered applause around from those who believe that being chosen is an honor, but there isn't much.

She's terrified, but she doesn't want to show it. Not in front of her people and potential sponsors. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders before she pushes ahead, one step at a time, until she reaches the stage.

The Capitol representative is grinning at her as if he's proud and leads her to stand on the left while he goes to the right to pick from the bowl from the men.

Her heart is heavy and the baby inside of her is kicking unhappily against her. A single tear runs down her cheek at the thought that she was going to lose her other child.

She stares firmly into the cameras which are focused on her, only for her eyes to widen as the male tribute's name is spoken aloud.

"Dale Horvath," the informant gleefully announces. Dale. She knows Dale. She knows how he protested the games and was vocal about his objections. It wouldn't surprise her if they had doubled his entries just to make sure that he would be chosen in order to silence him.

He sluggishly makes his way to the stage, a slight limp in his step, and stops directly beside her.

"Well, this shall be interesting, won't it?" The informant preens into the microphone and claps happily.

"Good luck to our victors and may the odds be ever in your favor," he says and Carol and Dale exchange a look full of nervousness and caution.

Dale's gaze flicks down to her slightly swollen belly and flicks his gaze back up to her eyes, pity and sorrow etched in his. She avoids his eyes after that and has the strongest desire to vomit, but reigns it in. If she wants to survive, she has to be strong.

The peacekeepers lead her and Dale away into separate rooms. Dale has his wife to say goodbye to and she has her husband and her daughter. She bites down hard on her lip to prevent herself from crying, wanting to seem strong.

The door flings open and only Sophia is there to see her. Part of her is grateful for that, but part of her is scared. Ed isn't going to take care of Sophia. She's noticed just how he looks at her so she can only hope that Sophia will find someone to stay with while she's gone. Maybe even stay with her mother.

Sophia's small hands clamp tightly around Carol's dress as she buries her head in her stomach, small hiccups leaving her and her hands come to wrap around her daughter protectively. "I love you, Sophia. Don't forget that, okay?" Carol whispers and Sophia nods her head, her shoulders shaking before she releases her.

"I love you too, momma," her daughter mumbles and Carol smiles, tears blurring her vision.

"I want you to stay with grandma, okay? Just while I'm gone. Understand?" Sophia nods and Carol breathes a sigh of relief. At least she doesn't have to worry about Ed being alone with Sophia anymore.

Sophia doesn't know about her sibling yet and Carol knows it's only a matter of time before she finds out. She opens her mouth to tell her, but nothing comes out. She is interrupted by the peacekeepers coming forward and ripping Sophia away from her.

Carol is taken away and pulled onto the train. The same train that will take her to the Capitol. Dale is already there, wearing his signature hat on his head, but she doesn't comment. They're both going to their deaths and suddenly, being critical of clothing choices doesn't seem so important anymore.

Dale lifts his gaze to her as the door opens to reveal her and he nods to her as she sits down. They don't speak to one another and the silence between them is almost unbearable and she's grateful when the doors open up to reveal their mentor.

Hershel Greene won the 10th Hunger Games and was 17 years old when he accomplished it. He managed to avoid getting into battles up until there was only one tribute left. He managed to lead that tribute into a trap, but lost his leg in the process.

He has been the only victor from District 8 and many considered him a living legend. Even the ones who didn't agree with his method of survival.

Her gaze is instantly drawn to his plastic limb, given to him by the finest surgeons in the Capitol, but it doesn't stay there for very long. He's staring at both of them, as if he's not even sure why he's here.

Only after a few silent filled seconds does he finally move forward and take a seat beside Dale. His white hair is unkempt and unruly but she doesn't comment, merely smiles faintly at him and waits for him to speak.

"Strengths," he mumbles and Dale and Carol both exchange a confused look as if they weren't sure exactly what he meant.

"You. What is your strength?" Hershel asks, staring pointedly at Dale. Dale doesn't say anything, merely staring at the other, still slightly confused.

"I'm not bad with a gun," Dale mumbles, memories from the war resurfacing into his mind. Carol doesn't know why he's bringing up a gun in the first place. Citizens were never allowed access to a gun, and throughout the past 50 years, a tribute had never even held a gun. It was impossible.

"Anything else?" Hershel asks and Dale eventually sighs before he finally gives in and tells him what his ideal plans are. He doesn't want to fight and he doesn't want to kill. He wants to die and not give the Capitol the satisfaction of turning him into a killer. Hershel tells him it isn't wise, but Dale refuses to speak anymore after that.

Hershel turns to her and asks her the same. "I think if I could get my hands on a knife..." She mumbles under her breath and Hershel nods in approval.

"A knife isn't a bad thing to have. Just know that when it comes time to fight I want you to run. It will be a blood bath for the first thirty minutes or so. Don't take any unnecessary risks. Understand?" He warns her and his gaze flicks down to her belly and she knows that he knows. He's telling her this for her own safety.

So she listens and agrees to take his advice. She will do whatever she can to make it home with both her and her unborn child intact.

Hershel then sighs and rests his head in his hands as he turns to the silent man beside him. "Dale, I'm assuming that you don't even want to talk strategy?" Dale only nods and stands from his chair and leaves the car to move to another, searching for something he could swallow to drink his anger away.

She and Hershel are the only ones in the car now and he's staring at her with curiosity. "My child died. He was in the 30th Games. The odds... They weren't in his favor," he tells her, his eyes filled with haunting.

"I'm sorry," Carol murmurs, her hands coming to rest on her stomach, worry and concern radiating from her petite form. She remembers Shaun Greene. Everyone had expected such great things from him, but he had died during the blood bath. No one had mourned him, no one except the Victor before her.

"It was a long time ago. Do you have any other children?" He asks her and she nods. "Yes. My daughter, Sophia. I don't want to leave her alone, Hershel. Please... Please, just help me get back home to her," she begs, her voice cracking as she speaks.

"...Come on. Let's see your competition," he says, his lips tugged upwards into a slight smile as he reaches for the remote on the table. A television reveals itself from the ceiling of the car and the reaping from each District is shown.

It starts with District 1, two figures are on stage beside the wildly dressed representative, both looking extremely proud of themselves and manic grins on their faces.

The male was well built with sun kissed skin and a full head of raven colored hair. He was shouting expletives and pacing along the stage, continuously throwing his arms up in the air as if he had won the whole thing already.

The woman was more composed than he, and Carol couldn't help but admire her appearance. She was beautiful and the long brown hair that cascaded down her back made her envious, but there was something cruel in her eyes. Something altogether malicious.

"That's Shane and the woman beside him is Lori. They will most likely join up with the tributes from district 2," Hershel explained as the tributes from District 2 revealed themselves.

A black woman with her hair tied into several braids and a mocking smirk appeared first, though she didn't say much. The pale man beside her didn't say much either, just nodded, an honored smile on his lips.

"Michonne and Philip. They will be the others and these four are the ones you want to worry about. If you can, be sure to try and take one of them out as soon as possible. The longer you don't, the higher chances you have of being outnumbered if you survive that long," Hershel instructed and she nodded, being sure to keep tabs.

She was shown the others. Some younger than she and some of the same age. It was only when they reached District 7 that someone caught her eye.

"Hershel... Who is that?" She asked, watching the scene on the television. It was not the blonde female who caught her attention, but the rugged male who was snarling at anyone who tried to touch him.

"Daryl Dixon," Hershel informed, watching as the reaping was replayed.

Daryl's name was chosen and he made no move to go. He didn't look scared or resigned. He just looked bored and firm. The peacekeepers were trying to get him to move, but he continuously refused. It was only when a peacekeeper mentioned something to him that he finally stepped forward, a wild look in his eyes.

She turned to look at Hershel with questionable eyes, but he only continued to inform her of the other tributes and what she should watch out for.

Carol paid little attention and only nodded when she was supposed to. What had the peacekeeper said to Daryl to get him to go? And why did it bother her so much?

* * *

A/N: Well... I'm trying my hand at a Hunger Games AU. Hopefully, I did it justice.

Next chapter will be the interviews and the parade where Daryl and Carol will finally meet :)


	2. Welcome To The Capitol

Chapter 2: Welcome To The Capitol

* * *

Hershel and she continue to discuss strategy once the reaping replay is over and she tries to put Daryl and the peacekeeper in the back of her mind.

She tells herself that it's not important. What is important is surviving and the only way she'll be able to do that is if she pays attention to the advice that Hershel is giving her. In the end, that is exactly what she tries to do.

The train arrives at the Capitol much sooner than she anticipated and her eyes are wide as she takes in the excited citizens who are waving and clamoring around the station just to get a view of the tributes from District 8. Hershel mumbles something about finding Dale and Carol is left alone while she waits.

The citizens of the Capitol are dressed much differently from the citizens of District 8 and Carol found herself to be envious. The dress she wore for the reaping just happened to be the only nice dress that she owned. A simple grey gown that fell to her knees. It didn't show off her figure nor did it make her stand out. It was simple. Like her.

The citizens of the Capitol wear gowns of multiple colors, their hair curled up or down and gleeful smiles on their lips. They were not terrified of the games and based on their weight, they had never been panicked about where they would receive their next meal. Unlike in District 8, where you were lucky if you were even paid enough to receive enough money for a cracker.

The door slides open and her attention is grabbed by the two hobbling into her cart. Hershel is smiling weakly at them both and due to Dale's wobbling form, she can only assume he found the bar. Hershel only shrugs in response to her unspoken question and gestures them both forward.

Carol steps out of the train and onto the station where peacekeepers are waiting for them. She doesn't know where they're taking her, but she has an idea. Each year, the tributes were given stylists to make them look their best. This year does not seem to be different and she is proven right when she and Dale are led into a solitary building where they are soon separated.

She is led into a room with what looks like several hospital beds, but each bed is separated by white curtains. As she counts, she notes that there are 12 beds in total and at least 5 curtains are open. She is led to the far left where there are two people waiting for her inside. The white curtain is closed behind her and she is left to glance inside, her attention mostly garnered by the two waiting for her.

One is very tall and slightly large, his brown hair slicked back with tubs of gel. A concentrated frown is on his lips as he takes in her appearance and he sighs in what seems to be disappointment. "Awful. Just awful," he mutters disdainfully as he eyes her hair.

The black woman beside him elbows him, a smile coming to her lips at the noise of protest that leaves his. "Don't be cruel, Morales. She just needs some work. That's all," she hums, her fingers raising to thread themselves through Carol's freshly washed hair.

"What'd I tell you, Jacqui? Greasy. Very greasy," Morales mumbles disdainfully. Jacqui scowls at him but doesn't say much else, instead she turns to smile faintly at Carol.

"This will be a long process. But I promise you, it'll be the worth the wait," the stylist assures and despite Carol's fear, she begins to relax.

She doesn't want to be seen by a man while they are undressing her and giving her a scrub down and Jacqui seems to notice this. It's with great relief when the pretty young woman sends Morales away, despite his objections.

Silence overtakes the two of them as Jacqui wipes the dirt and grease away from her form. At the way that she stills, Carol can only assume that she's found the scars across her back. The hesitance is only for a moment before she continues, but Carol can already feel that something is different.

"He'll be taken care of," Jacqui promises and there's no denying the quiver in her voice and the added pressure onto her back is not helping to disguise her anger. Carol doesn't know how she knew it was her husband's doing, but she doesn't confirm nor deny the accusation. It's shortly after that Carol is given a ridiculous costume to wear and Jacqui informs her that she will be leaving to take care of some business and that Morales will be helping her in Jacqui's place.

The costume that she is given is slightly humiliating. It's a turquoise unitard with shading of purple mixed in. As she pulls it on, she notes the netting that moves across the waist and she can only assume the look they were going for this year was a fairy. It didn't matter in the end. Every year, District 8 was given something awful and embarrassing to wear during the parade. This year, it was her and Dale's turn.

Unfortunately for her, the unitard is skin tight and is doing her no favors in regards to her swollen stomach. While she was barely showing when it came to her own clothes, the unitard was making it much more obvious than she needed it to be. Self-consciously, her hands come to rest on her abdomen in an attempt to hide it, hopeful that no one will notice.

Morales enters shortly after she enters and despite a weak grin on his lips, he makes no comment in regards to her appearance. He leads her out of the room and takes her outside.

There are multiple tributes outside, all gathering up besides their horse-drawn carriages. Their costumes are all as cheesy and hokey as hers so she doesn't feel as embarrassed as she had been and it does make her fear lessen.

A few tributes are missing and Dale is one of them. She's worried, but decides to brush it off. Surely, he'll be here later. Instead, she takes her time in glancing around at all the tributes who are already here.

At the far right, there are four tributes, all laughing and mumbling about something she's not sure she wants to know. She recognizes them. Lori, Michonne, Shane, and Philip. These are the careers. These are the ones she needs to watch out for.

She's quick to shift her gaze elsewhere, not wanting to get their attention. Being noticed was actually the last thing that she wanted and she intended to stick to that plan. All the tributes that are here are not nearly as old as she looks and she can't help but feel weak and envious in comparison.

There's a fierce and rather rough looking man resting beside the carriage a few away from her and she recognizes him immediately, despite the brown and green suit that he is currently adorning. She can already tell from here that he's unhappy about being dressed up as a tree, but that was how it was every year. The themes never changed.

Daryl is speaking to another tribute, though while Daryl intrigued her, the other scared her. There was something malicious about him. Something not quite sane. There's an uncanny resemblance between them which could only mean they were family. But how was that possible? She's not exactly sure.

From here, she can tell that whatever they're talking about is serious and something that the other man says triggers Daryl into a rage, but just one look from the other makes him still. She recognizes the signs and begins to wonder if he's like her.

The other tribute's gaze flickers to her and her eyes widen as she forces her gaze to the ground. She's been caught spying. And now, she might have just made the biggest mistake she could ever make. She's been noticed.

Carol attempts to play it off as nothing as she moves towards her own carriage, searching for her district partner, but Dale is still missing and now, she is beginning to worry. There are 23 tributes here now and Dale is the only one who is not.

She works her bottom lip through her teeth nervously, glancing at the entry way repeatedly, but still nothing. Finally, after ten minutes, someone familiar steps through, but it's not Dale.

Hershel is hobbling his way towards her, concern and fury in his eyes, and dread pools it's way into her stomach. Whatever is happening, she knows it's not good.

Her mentor stops in front of her and rests his palm on her shoulder, a frown on his lips and her first instinct is to ask where Dale is. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. It doesn't matter in the end, because Hershel manages to answer her before she can ask.

"He's dead. He was found in the bathroom with his stomach cut and a knife in his head. It's assumed he did this himself. A replacement tribute has been found. He's getting ready now and will be here briefly," he mutters, but doesn't tell her who the replacement is, nor does he look at her as he speaks. He doesn't offer her sympathy or anything of the sort. Just a simple pat on the shoulder and then he's gone, almost as if he were never there to begin with.

Her heart is frozen in her chest and she wants to cry and scream and get all of her anguish out. But she can't. Not in front of the other tributes. Not in front of the sponsors. A solitary tear runs down her cheek and she tries her hardest to wipe it away before anyone else can see it.

But she wasn't quick enough. Someone's hands are on her arm and she's being pulled away towards a far corner of the area where not many people can see them. She doesn't object, finding herself used to being manhandled and far too shocked and terrified to even open her mouth.

"You need to calm your ass down," A gruff voice mumbles to her once they've stopped and her eyes snap up to meet dark blue. Daryl is standing there, his eyes narrowed, and she bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from crying again.

"What's your name?" He asks and she manages to take a deep breath before answering. "Carol," she replies and he nods, taking it in.

"Where's the old guy, Carol?" He asks and her vision blurs with tears as she begins to speak, though she tries her hardest to hold them back.

"Dead," she chokes out and he stills, though she can tell that he's not exactly surprised. He sighs and releases her, stepping back just enough to give her space.

"Figured as much. Didn't seem like a fighter anyway," he mumbles, and she stays silent. That didn't make it okay. Nothing made this situation okay.

"Stop crying, will ya? The others will find you weak. They'll target you immediately and..." he trails off. His sharp intake of breath makes her eyes snap up to meet his, her eyes widening as she finds exactly where he was staring.

Instantly, her hands come to rest on her stomach and he swears. He doesn't say anything else before he's stomping away and muttering obscenities under his breath and cursing the Capitol. She's left alone and she's more terrified than she had been before.

She's done for. She's done for and she knows it. She takes a deep breath to steady herself before she steps out towards the carriages once more.

Carol doesn't take more than ten steps before she runs into a big man in a male costume that resembles hers and she can only assume that this is her new district partner.

She opens her mouth to apologize to him only to freeze as the man turns around. A large and sinister grin grows on his lips as he takes her in and she finds that she can't speak.

He's asking her something and she can't trust herself to open her mouth. After all the nightmares she had endured, she thought that she would finally be free of him once her name had been drawn for the Games.

But she was wrong. Her husband was brought in as a replacement tribute. And she knew now that it was only a matter of time before he killed her with his own two hands.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all your support guys. It means a lot. And I know I said that I would put the interviews in this chapter too but it didn't work out that way. Hope you guys enjoy this one.


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